


The Mechanism

by crayons



Category: Lovelyz
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7581937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayons/pseuds/crayons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mijoo is a pre-school teacher and Jiae is a shopping mall model. The two, however different, meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. of how we introduce

She’s a teacher, just like her father (just like his father was before him). But it wasn’t her father that influenced her in wanting to teach, if anything he made her not want to pursue teaching. He always told her, in any slight chance that he can bring it up, his own sort of philosophy on his profession: “Everyone’s a teacher if you think about it hard enough.”

But Mijoo’s never one to think deeply about… anything actually. And teaching is easy. She does it, not to rebel or go against her father’s words but because she believes in the simple truth behind it, quite contradictory to her father’s own words. Everyone was once a student, but not everyone could be a teacher. It’s as good as any privilege she could think of.

There are also trivial happiness brought on by her work. But more than that, since it is just like any other job, sometimes it seems like there are more difficult days than smooth sailing ones. A smooth sailing day, how did that term come about? It makes her think of a luxurious cruise ship and how she hasn’t gone on a vacation in over three years. When could she ever find the time to anyway, between teaching preschoolers and managing their parents’ expectations of kindergarten and sometimes the entire education system, there’s barely even any time to think of her own life.

Do sailors laze around in their cabins if the waters were calm? How Mijoo wishes she could do the same. If there indeed is such a day, where she could recognize the calmness of her surroundings and do the same, be absolutely still, without a worry in the world, how great would a day like that be. Her own smooth sailing day.

Mijoo could go on a cruise. She could if she makes time for it. She could almost imagine the clear skies and the emerald sea knocking –

_Knocking on her door._

And then Mijoo is interrupted by a loud footstep, literally just one, as if the person hurled their body forward from the hallway to inside the classroom. It’s a lady. She practically leaps forward, leaving the door behind her ajar.

“Hi, I’m sorry, I know I’m a little early but –”

Mijoo pulls out a seat. “No, it’s okay. Why don’t you take a seat first?” It seems like she’s here to talk anyway, so it’s better to discuss while being seated.

She walks towards the table and brings her hand out for a handshake. Mijoo takes it, and she bows slightly. She notices how her hand is small.

“I’m Yoo Jiae, I’m here to attend the parents’ meeting in place of my sister.”

Actually, being face to face, she’s quite small everywhere else too. A petite girl with heavy footsteps.

She explains that her sister has a business meeting she can’t turn down so even though the parents-teacher meeting had her first notice, she eventually had to make it second priority. And then Jiae rambles on about how she has another place to be at as well.

“Well, why don’t we start so that you can get going?”

“I’m not making the best impression here, am I?”

Mijoo chuckles. “What makes you think that?”

“I’m making it sound like this is the last place I wanna be at.”

Mijoo rummages through the report cards stacked on her desk. “Trust me, I can count in one hand the number of people who want to be here.” She hands Jiae her nephew’s report card after finding it in the pile, and she almost thought she made a mistake judging by the look she’s giving her. Mijoo peeks at the name printed on card.

“Is he not your nephew?”

“Oh, he is! He is!”

“Usually I do the consulting part in groups so I’m not really sure how to go about it one-on-one. Is there anything in particular your sister might want to know?”

“He’s being a good kid, right?”

Mijoo nods, thinking over the question. “It might come as a surprise but kids are more mature and responsible in kindergarten. He’s a good kid.”

“Now you’re thinking I’m here asking these stupid questions and that I’m just wasting your time.”

“No, please waste my time. Actually, I’m afraid I’m keeping you from where you need to be instead.”

Jiae brings her wrist up to look at her watch, and even though she wants to stay and chat a little bit more with her nephew’s interesting teacher, the time indicates she leave as soon as possible as to not encounter any delays or reprimanding.

“Really sorry to inconvenience you like this, and I’m sorry that I have to leave so abruptly.” She says as she stands up, and the teacher does the same, eventually walking her out of the classroom. She bows slightly and wishes her a safe trip. With Jiae hurrying, she wasn’t able to give a proper reply, not even a half-assed ‘thank you’.

*

“Jiae, you seem distracted.” The photographer clocks her in.

“Sorry, let’s do it again.” She replies loudly over the music playing through the speakers. Even with the music playing, it’s amazing how she could drown it out and get lost in her thoughts. Not even a second into that realization, Jiae snaps out of it, and poses properly immediately. She isn’t late but she still gets reprimanded.

Her sister did mention that her job is a poor man’s version of an actress. Whatever that may mean. Jiae wants to become an actress, she really does, but it’s hard to even come to that when the opportunity never presents itself. She’s working as a shopping mall model because it’s the quickest and easiest way she knows could get herself out there. Out there? She’s not getting any acting jobs and she’s been doing this for 3 years and they’re still shooting in an underground studio. So maybe the quickest and easiest way to be out there is actually caging her in. So much that she’s learned to hate it.

“Let’s go to the next one.”

Jiae proceeds to the changing room. She fishes her phone out of her bag and opens a message from her sister that reads: ‘did you meet ms. lee? got the report card?’. She raises an eyebrow. “Ms. Lee?”

“Yes?” Ms. Lee, their new make-up artist, responds by turning to her.

“Oh, sorry, it’s not you.” Jiae rummages through her messy bag. Shoots leave her flustered so sometimes she just tosses things into her bag, especially shoots that require her to self-accessorize. They’re currently low on budget. She finally manages to find the report card which she sees is signed by the kindergarten teacher, Lee Mijoo.

She scoffs at herself. “I didn’t even get her name.”

“Did you say something? Are you done changing?”

Again, Ms. Lee, their new make-up artist. They’re low on budget and can’t afford the same person for make-up anymore. Jiae will just have to adjust and learn what the change in her tone of voice mean. Impatience? Frustration? For working with a slow shopping mall website model? For working in this shoot that barely pays her?

Jiae flings the curtain open. “Could you zip the back for me?”

“You know those paper dolls that you can clip clothes onto? What you guys are doing here reminds me a lot of that.” She says it like it doesn’t mean much, like it’s as trivial as the weather.

“Don’t kids like Barbie better?” She turns around and glances quickly at her reflection on the mirror.

“Well, Barbie’s more like a personality. She has a house, and a car, and a boyfriend. Like it’s all part of the franchise.” She does minimal fixing to her make-up, and also helps her wrinkle out the ends of the dress. “Alright, off you go.”

She hurries into the studio’s white backdrop, in contrast taking her time digesting what Ms. Lee said. It must be tough being Barbie, so Jiae will just have to live as a paper doll. Some people are happy even with just paper dolls. Paper dolls probably existed before Barbie dolls. Nothing wrong with being a paper doll. The moment Jiae catches herself defending an argument that’s all happening in her brain, the photographer snaps at her again.

“Would you rather have this shoot at another time?”

“Sorry, I’ll get it together.”

If she focuses on the light... well, if she manages to focus at all, she should definitely focus on the light. The light can change her, transform her features into the ones that don’t even look like the person reflected on her mirror at 9 in the morning when she just woke up.

It must be amazing to be at the other side, to capture the moments and suspend it into a photo and have it live forever. If Jiae could choose, she would always want to relive these three years. The past three years of being here, of being photographed, of this job being her first source of happiness and fulfillment in her adulthood, making her feel like one step is like a huge leap into the future. if she could, in the case of reality she can’t and even to wish it may seem irrational but just in this moment Jiae feels like she would always want to live in the past three years like an unbroken cycle, wherein she’s oblivious to the fact that it’s a never ending loop so that she could enable herself to feel everything as if they were new every single time.

“Good job today. Next time let’s get it together from the beginning so we can save some time.”

Saving time? Sure, she could do that. Jiae changes into her own clothes and packs her stuff messily into her bag, her message alert tone distracting her in the process.

‘you busy? how about dinner so i can get the report card?’ She reads the message from her sister, and not a second later, a call comes through and she takes it.

“I’m checking on you to see if you’re still alive.”

“The shoot took a while, I’ve been causing trouble I think.”

“My little troublemaker, you should come see me.”

“The usual then?”

“Sure.”

She hangs up and gets ready to leave, noticing Ms. Lee at the corner packing her things. Jiae walks towards her, the act itself making Ms. Lee stop and take notice of her as well.

“I didn’t quite get your name.”

“It’s Soojung. Lee Soojung.”

“Well, Soojung, I’m Yoo Jiae. Good work today.”

She nods. “You too.”

She reaches for the door handle. Stopping in her tracks to look back at Soojung. “See you next time.”

*

She reaches her destination. She reaches for the door handle. Not pushing it unlike what the sign above it indicates. What is this ominous feeling? Jiae can still run away. There are still plenty of chances, and still plenty of time.

And yet someone opens the door from the other side.

“Good evening. Table for how many people?”

“Uh… Two.”

“Right this way.” The waiter leads her to a corner table, and waits for her to be seated before handing her a menu. “The other party will find you with what name?”

“Yoo Jiae,” She’s seems to be giving her name a lot today.

“Should I get you anything while you wait?”

“No, thank you.”

Jiae feels a sense of regret not having gotten the waiter’s name, like a shadow from earlier today looms on her for not getting that teacher’s name personally. She takes out the report card, inspecting the writing on it more carefully.

What makes a person want to be a teacher? From Jiae’s own experience, not all teachers are necessarily liked or respected. And school itself is sometimes viewed as a trap, with no escape until one can prove themselves to be an educated person of society. A person’s character, morality and ethics all part of one person’s lesson plan. And if everything indeed could be taught, why is there still ignorance even among the learned?

It becomes even harder for her to fathom. 

Jiae was probably very deep in thought because her sister’s arrival catches her off guard. She sits down opposite her casually, remarking about the traffic and time management and the way people move.

“Well, you’re here now,” Jiae slides the report card towards her.

“Did the teacher say anything?”

“Kids are more mature and responsible in kindergarten?”

“But at home, oh my god.” She skims through the grades written.

School is weird. Grades are weird.

In no time, they’ve ordered an entire tableful of food.

“You can eat this much just this once,’’ suggests her sister.

I will not comment on the sudden calm in her tone of voice, Jiae repeats this same statement in her head multiple times until she is certain that her sister has moved past the topic.

“So how was work today?”

“I already told you.”

“Not in detail.”

“Don’t you think Lee Mijoo would be a good model?”

“The kindergarten teacher?”

Jiae nods because she’s not yet quite done chewing.

“She’s a teacher, Jiae. I don’t think she’ll be up for the sort of work you do.”

“Way to make it sound like a drug syndicate or something.”

“I already told you how I feel about this.”

A pause. The atmosphere suddenly shifts to a serious one. Jiae hates talking about this. Any conversation they have about her work or anything related to it leads them into a fight where they don’t speak to each other because the other avoids being the initiator of any conversation because most conversations, if not all, lead to them arguing about Jiae’s future plans.

“You think my line of work is pointless.”

“I never said it was pointless.”

“Oh, right. You said it was shallow.”

“Jiae, I refuse to argue about this again.”

They don’t raise their voices, which all the more actually raises the tension between them. It’s in their genes maybe. That they both only know how to argue in a passive aggressive manner.

Her sister sighs, maybe as a sign of giving in. “You can go to the school fieldtrip in my stead if you want to see Ms. Lee again.”

Oh. Two Ms. Lee’s that she will see again.

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you’re displacing your duties as a parent to me, your single and childless sister.”

“My college friends and I are thinking of a road trip. And the date coincides. Won’t you please help your older sister out?”

*

The children wear yellow, which Jiae thinks makes them look like chicks. All lumped together in the school bus, the children with their excitable energy and their eagerness seem to be uncontainable. Why did she agree to chaperoning her nephew again?

MIjoo comes forward, with a microphone in hand, as if to remind her. “Good morning everyone!”


	2. of how we leave a mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jiae and Jisoo meet in a bakery to talk about the past and the present. The future a set of unknowns, but they talk about it anyway.

Jiae is invited into a bakery by Jisoo. There isn’t much elaboration on the reason why Jisoo wanted to meet or why she wanted to visit this particular place. Jiae should have known by now, through years of friendship and whatever that two months of flirting was, that Jisoo, as an artist, has a mind that works differently from hers. And yet even with that knowledge, Jisoo still manages to surprise her nonetheless.

She seeks inspiration. Thoroughly. And swiftly. So swift, it became hard to point out at any given time what one thing actually inspires Jisoo.

Jiae doesn’t really care much if people are late as long as it isn’t in her working environment, and Jisoo knows this, so she doesn’t apologize. If anything, Jiae hates it more when people apologize too much without reason or without actually meaning to.

Jisoo pulls the chair opposite Jiae and remarks about the weather. “A bit too gloomy this week don’t you think?”

“I didn’t take you as a person who cared about things like that.”

“I’m trying to touch up on my inner girl’s sensitivity.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Inside of me lives a girl.”

“Inside me lives a girl too.” Jiae thinks of changing the topic, because who knows what are they actually even talking about. “So what’s the best bread in here?”

Jisoo points to… the lady behind the counter.

“So it looks like inside your heart is a girl too.”

“Do you want anything? I’ll order. My treat.”

Jiae rolls her eyes. “You’re too much.”

Jisoo leans back to get a better view of the girl, not paying attention to what Jiae is saying. Jiae then slams her palms lightly on the table to get her attention, and Jisoo was almost at the point of tipping and falling over.

“Do you want to exchange seats so you can see her without injuring yourself?”

“Good idea. I’ll order something and then you move to this seat. Want anything?”

“Coffee, I guess. Not iced.”

Jisoo hurries to the counter, hopefully carrying her dignity along.

Jiae moves to the seat opposite her original place. Looking back on the years between them, it’s remarkable that they’ve even managed to stay friends this long of a time. They’re very different. Funny how, in the earlier days of their newly formed friendship Jisoo was the one without ambition. This silly girl trying to go through the world one day at a time. Jiae can see how it became such a huge help to who she is now. Every day a new person with new aspirations, each small just within the limits of what the day can offer her, but cumulatively infinite.

To go into the mathematics, it might not actually seem possible for a person to have an infinite anything. But Jisoo’s small aspirations, her small hopes, her small steps – or what then seemed to be small to Jiae – were limitless, never-ending, reaching all directions.

Funny how, in retrospect, Jiae is the silly one for having only one big dream. And the thing with big dreams is that sometimes they’re so big even for the dreamer.

After a very quick turn in ordering their food, Jisoo makes her way back to the table, but in the process knocking down the wet floor sign in the middle of the store, and slipping in place while trying to reduce her momentum. The contents of the cups on the tray she’s holding spilling over her gripping hand. And for someone who took martial art lessons, one would expect her to have fast reflexes or at least a little bit of athleticism as a product of her training, but Jisoo proves once again how she is one of the more surprising people in Jiae’s life.

Jiae and the lady behind the counter squabble over to her side. Her hand dripping with hot coffee still gripping the tray tightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” She says in almost a whisper, her voice trembling from either the pain or the embarrassment.

Jiae steals a glance at the girl. Her black name tag pinned on her pristine white button down. Sujeong, it says in white font. Jiae supposes Jisoo already knows that information. Sujeong quickly takes the tray from Jisoo and lets it rest on the closest tabletop. She assists her into the kitchen area where she puts Jisoo’s hand under running water.

The other staff hurry over to take the tray away, and to clean the mess Jisoo spilled on the floor.

“Sorry about that. She’s a little…” Jiae actually doesn’t know what she’ll say. Clumsy? Out of it? That doesn’t quite cover it. It was a good thing the staff intercepted.

“No, it’s alright. Let me get you a new batch of pastries and hot drinks.” He says, and leaves almost too quickly after.

Such ruckus in the morning, what a great way to start what Jiae wanted as a perfectly normal day. Jiae takes her seat again. It’s lucky there aren’t much people this time of the day. To have caused such a scene at a much busier time would have been a huge inconvenience.

Jisoo would much rather prefer to be alone with the girl. Sujeong, her name, as the nametag pinned on her white button down indicates. A fairly common name. Jiae decides to leave the two of them alone, and give Jisoo some time to get to know the girl beyond the ‘what’s your order’ and ‘what’s your name’. It may appear like she’s a bad friend for not caring for the injured Jisoo, but she’s actually doing her a great favor for not intervening.

The male staff arrives with hot coffee.

Whose fault is it that Jisoo had a small accident? Was it the wet floor sign? Was it the staff who put it there? Was it the weather? Was it Jisoo herself? In any case, the guy insist she shouldn’t pay for the drinks and the food that arrives later on.

Jisoo, despite her injured hand, is in a happy mood; all smiles as she returns to the table, still eyeing the girl who is now also back behind the counter.

“You’re probably the first person who’s happy to have a first degree burn.”

“Hey!” she scowls, “Still it was quite a good opportunity to finally meet.”

“I hope you didn’t say anything stupid.”

“Like what?” Jisoo looks almost offended. “I didn’t even get to say much. She said she noticed that I go here frequently lately, but it’s the first time I went with a friend. I was completely swept by all that information; all I could do was smile like a fool.”

Jiae pauses, taking every information in. “I can only think of two possibilities. One, she’s into you, going as far as noticing all of those. And two, there aren’t many customers in this place and you’re being a stalker creep coming here daily.”

“I’d like to think it’s the former.”

“You should still pay for these though, Ms. Frequent Customer. I mean, that accident was half your fault.” Jiae points to the food.

Jisoo nods, and proceeds to stuff her face with cinnamon bread using her non-dominant hand.

“Oh, that’s hard. How will you draw?”

“Oh. I’m actually on leave for the time being.”

Jiae makes an evidently displeased facial expression. Jisoo tells her things. Jisoo always tells her things. Even if she already knows things, Jisoo still tells her.

“Hm, I didn’t know that.” Suddenly, her saying that seems like an admission of defeat. But what exactly did she lose?

“It’s not a big deal. My chief editor thinks my work has reached a period of a dry spell. I’m here to make alive my imagination.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it. You having a crush on this girl.”

“Interesting indeed,” she says, “how these are the things sufficient to move you forward.”

“So what comes after?”

Jisoo double takes, as if not expecting the question. “What?”

“I said, so what comes after?”

She ponders on the question for a while, pursing her lips in thought, only to come to the simplest of answers. “I’ve not thought that far ahead yet.”

Typical. Jiae stops asking further. In a way, this is one of Jisoo’s qualities she’s envious of. Her concept of spontaneity, of not having plans and of not being bothered by non-possibilities and the possibilities, both the good and the bad.

“Do you know sometimes I look at you and see everything that’s opposite of me?”

“But, just like me, you look better with darker hair. You should dye it back.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. And I’m also saying you should dye your hair black again. How long has your hair been blonde? I don’t even remember how you look with darker hair. All I know is that you were breathtaking and that people worshipped the ground you walked on.”

“I was young then.”

“You’re still young now. We’re still young.”

Maybe she’s young. She’s not lived long enough for sure. But then again maybe no one has. For each person has their own perspective on the length of time. To some people a minute is long, just like the quiet minute Jisoo and Jiae are sharing. But the same minute can be short for another. Everyone experiences time differently. And for Jiae who’s wanting to be an actress, she’s too late to start now.

“Well, at least, I look young.”

“You did go to that kindergarten field trip. How was that?”

“Can’t really call it a field trip, it was more like a picnic.” She pauses, “It was okay.”

“Didn’t take you as the type to go on things like those.”

“What type do I seem like to you?”

Jisoo contemplates on an answer. For Jiae to ask so suddenly and so directly like this, it leaves her flustered. It’s such a Jiae thing to do – to leave her flustered. She can think of all the ways in her mind that Jiae isn’t, like that she isn’t straightforward with her feelings, both verbally and emotionally. But the opposite of those traits are also not necessarily what she is exactly either.

“I… don’t know. But for me, you look opposite what you really are.”

Jiae raises a brow. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Nah, it usually just means that first impressions of you are mostly wrong. Underneath that cute sweet beautiful exterior lies this angry blob of a human person who has a hard time telling what she’s actually like on the inside.”

“Oh my god,” Jiae exclaims. “Is that how you see me? That I’m angry all the time?”

“You do know, right? That every time something goes wrong, you’re very visibly upset but never say it. You hold everything in.” Jisoo explains further, “So in a way, I guess, you going to that fieldtrip is actually quite characteristic of you, you know, not saying things.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, but I actually really wanted to go.”

Jisoo gives her a meaningful smile, and then a shocked expression almost like having an internal battle with herself and how she should react, all the while visibly showing every flitting emotion on her face. She moves closer to whisper to Jiae. “Don’t tell me… oh no, she’s married and has a kid. Of all the worst luck in the world. Yoo Jiae, you really outdid yourself this time.”

Ah, luck. If it were based on luck, if it were based on anything at all, Jiae would like to recognize what it truly is. Instead, she wallows at a space. Some unknown unoccupied unlabeled space in which she has no idea how to maneuver or move out from, not that she knows if she wants to.

“Well, aren’t I lucky she’s not a mom.”

“Then… the teacher? I’d still consider that a misfortune.”

And who was Seo Jisoo to give advice on matters such as this? Jisoo steals glances at the girl behind the counter, like a love struck fool, or a stalker, only a thin line separates the difference.

“So? I’m right, aren’t I? I’m always right.”

“Unfortunately so.” Jiae concedes defeat. “She’s… interesting. Especially during the picnic, she kept talking about the bus like it’s a living thing.” She almost scoffs at the sudden thought. “She said, ‘why don’t we keep an eye on our bus, we don’t want it running away,’ when the driver was clearly having a meal with the other teachers.”

“Well, she’s right. You gotta keep an eye on things you don’t want running away.” Jisoo keeps her eyes on Sujeong, who actually looks younger than both of them, particularly maybe because she’s smiling all the time. Is it age or experience that have reduced their smiles? The moment Jisoo’s eyes land back on Jiae, Jiae is frowning. “Okay, hey, plus isn’t that like a cartoon kids enjoy? Personified buses? Pretty sure Korea copyrighted that.”

“And Pororo, don’t forget Pororo.”

Jisoo squints at Jiae, pondering on another thought. Then, Jisoo looks at her judgingly for admitting to have a slight crush on her nephew’s kindergarten teacher, even as far as going out of her way to meet her again even if her nephew is a pain in the neck. So it might actually be more than a slight crush, but for Jiae to say it out loud is a bit unnecessary.

Jisoo apparently shares the same sentiment. “No, never mind. I’m not gonna say it.” She says, after looking like she’s deep in thought for a while.

“Come on, you obviously exhausted brain cells thinking it, you might as well just say it.”

“You never had a crush on a teacher while you were a student.”

Jiae nods slowly, not fully understanding the point Jisoo is trying to come across. “So?”

“So… this is it. This is you having a crush on a teacher. Everyone goes through it. It’s just that you are one hell of a special case.”

“My teachers were old married men with beer bellies. There’s no way in hell my type fell right into that very specific kind of people.”

“And what would your type be?”

“For one, not teenage girls working part-time at their mother’s bakery.”

Jisoo takes a sip of her coffee. “Not today, Satan.” She looks at Jiae pointedly as finishes her drink, and even as she puts her cup back down on the table. “Stop making this about me.”

“I don’t know what my type is.”

“Maybe it’s just a phase. Like what I said, everyone goes through it.” The moment Jisoo has said it, she already looks like she wants to swallow the words back into her throat, digest it and never have it go back up.

“Of course. My whole life must be just a phase then.”

Jiae gives up on the conversation. There isn’t a question in the first place. And if there isn’t a question then why bother looking for an answer? And if there isn’t a question, why make things complicated and make one?

“I’m so sorry, you know I don’t mean it like that.”

What could Jiae say to that? She understands. She knows what Jisoo means, but it feels like it hurts all the more since it came from her. Jisoo should know better. People invalidate her feelings, her dreams, her entire life, all the time, telling her there’s no way a girl could like another girl, telling her a girl like her couldn’t amount to anything.

And if what those people say are true, what then? If Jiae’s truths are sins to them, what then? If people are so absorbed in their only version of their truths, who will compensate? Jiae won’t live her life for them, that’s for sure.

“I have to go meet Sungjong for work.”

Jiae is up and ready to leave, when Jisoo grabs her by the wrist.

“No, don’t make up excuses so you can leave. I’m sorry. I take it back.”

“I really do have a meeting. I’m not mad.” Jiae urges Jisoo to look at the counter. “Don’t forget to pluck up the courage to talk to her, okay?”

Jisoo chuckles lightly. “Well, I do have to pay for the food.”

And since they’re not people who say ‘I love you’ so casually, like it’s merely a greeting or a farewell, Jiae leaves after assuring her one last time that she’s not angry. Had Jisoo asked if she’s upset, she would have said yes.

After stepping outside the store, Jiae makes a call. 

“Sorry, Sungjong, I wasn’t able to ask her. I don’t think she would have agreed either.”

The voice on the other line is evidently irritated. “But how would you really know if you didn’t ask?”

“I’ll try to ask her if an opportunity comes up again.”

“Alright. I’m in the studio, you better be here in 10 minutes or else…”

“Got it.” Jiae ends the call, and tries to peek at Jisoo through the clear display window of the bakery. Jisoo’s already by the counter, exchanging smiles.


	3. of how we come to notice (albeit belatedly)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mijoo suffers through another Parent-Teacher meeting, and starts noticing what’s actually missing.

It so happens to coincide with today. Myungeun is going to be a bride, except she doesn’t know it yet. He’s a good guy. And Mijoo can’t quite figure out why she’s still trying to find fault in him despite the fact that he might actually be the best match for her friend. But it must be because Myungeun is her friend, that she wants more than just the best for her. 

Surely enough, he proves himself to step up and above her expectations of him. He rents a small commercial space along one of the busier streets of their neighborhood. He plans to propose to her, today, in there, in their small starting fruit stall business. It’s smart of him, Mijoo thinks, to appeal to Myungeun’s greatest life fantasy, provided to her by some distant childhood memory of what appeared to be a happily married old couple managing their fruit store near Myungeun’s family’s house in Seoul.

How can Myungeun possibly reject him after _that_? How can Myungeun possibly reject the sudden fulfillment of the start of her fruit store owning fantasy becoming reality? And still what if she does reject him, what then? Mijoo can’t imagine it, that Myungeun would be the one to reject him mostly because she is so kind, kind to the point that maybe she would agree to a marital life at such a young age, just to spare his feelings. But then again, maybe it’s just Mijoo that thinks Myungeun is a little bit too young to get married. They’re both the youngest in the family of two sisters after all, so Mijoo can’t help but feel they are reflections of each other, only of course, Myungeun is younger, even the youngest of all her friends. And yet she’ll be the first one to marry.

Myungeun’s surprise proposal just so happens to coincide with the last parent-teacher meeting for the school year. Both very unusual reminders of a distant future Mijoo isn’t sure she could be a participant in. Marriage and children. And for someone who teaches kids as a job, Mijoo isn’t sure either if she likes them or not. The children and their weird excitable bursts of energy, their screaming and perspiring and being ridiculous all year round with their activities, ideas and sometimes even eating habits.

“Good day, sir, I suggest we give Arin something other than carrots to eat as snacks. Her fingertips turning orange might be a concern.” If only she’s allowed to say it, she would. But there are plenty of things she’s not allowed to say in her line of job, and maybe even just in her day to day life. 

But in most cases, she does speak her mind. Like how she wants to be part of the proposal, or at least she wants to be there for Myungeun’s reaction and response. Both of which she is unsure of. Both of which she’s not sure why she’s calculating to a certain extent. If anything it’ll be the usual and typical proposal, guy will get on one knee, girl cries and covers her face and says yes and they show it off for the world to see.

The parents rush into the classroom. Mijoo knows the enthusiastic ones are the sending their first kid to school, excited and anxious to know all about their children’s progress. Every little star accounted for.

How does one want a child? How can someone have enough time for another human being, to raise them, and mold them into acceptable people of society? Still, to this day, Mijoo wonders if she’s making her parents proud. At her age, what can be considered as an accomplishment? In school, there are grades, and medals and certificates even for just being the friendliest. Take a step into the real world, and then none of those things matter. Okay, maybe they do, but barely. When happiness and contentment are the standard, suddenly these abstract things, what will happen then?

Happiness is fleeting. When was the last time Mijoo felt genuinely happy without fearing for the impending doom of what is yet to come? Why is it that happiness is always seen as something that will pass, and be replaced with feelings quite unlike or even quite opposite it?

Well, if happiness were constant then it wouldn’t quite be happiness, would it?

The room becomes filled with people, save a certain seat at the back, but Mijoo only glances at it briefly, fearing that a prolonged look at an empty chair would prove to be far too suspicious and strange. As it is the last parent-teacher meeting, it is more of a farewell. It is not a sad farewell, but just by melancholic nature of goodbyes, Mijoo feels a slight sadness for letting them go. They’ve been together for a whole year long after all. Surely there’s something to love about her job, and this is probably one of those. That she sees people grow, her students and their parents alike, and that she’ll see them off to move on to the next one. She sees the parents off one last time, telling them of how different grade school is, and how they could adjust.

The more fulfilling, the more satisfying, but also the sadder part is this, but she tries her hardest to not make it seem so. It is only sad for her, because Mijoo knows she is the fleeting thing. People would move on from her. Her students would not remember her, would barely recall her lessons, her face, her name.

If only they’ll remember her name, that would have been good enough for her.

“Ms. Lee!” A voice calls for her, as she walks the corridor going to the faculty lounge to gather her things. She turns and sees Yoo Jiae catching her breath, a few meters away from her.

“I see you’re not quite a runner, Ms. Yoo.” Mijoo bridges the gap between them, reaching for her hand for a handshake. “It is either you’re too early or you’re late.”

“You remember me?” Jiae appears to have been surprised by this fact, but Mijoo feels it is not quite right to forget her.

“You leave quite an impression, Ms. Yoo. I doubt I would forget.”

What does that even _mean?_ Jiae lingers on those words, and their many different meanings. “You can call me Jiae.”

“Then you can call me Mijoo. I forgot to introduce myself last time.”

“No, it’s all my fault. I didn’t even ask for your name.”

“I should have given it even if you didn’t ask.”

It starts with a name. But if Jiae were to ask her for other things, would she still say the same?

“I’m sorry about being late. I always seem to be a burden to you.”

“No, it’s part of my job. Why don’t we head back to the classroom, I believe I left your nephew’s report card there.”

“So I am a burden to you?” Mijoo didn’t deny it, and also last time she was intent on the fact that Jiae should ‘waste her time’ so all the more she feels like she’s only a nuance to her.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Actually, today I was hoping you would be the one to come. I was a bit disappointed your sister’s seat was empty.”

Why did Mijoo say all those words? What would become of them? Jiae might not take it too well, but surely there’s nothing wrong with saying the truth. Jiae looks surprised with her reply, and Mijoo somehow wishes she didn’t say anything.

“I –” Jiae begins but Mijoo’s phone rings, interrupting her.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just go and take this.” She turns her back to her and walks away so that she wouldn’t be in earshot.

 _I wanted to be alone with you so I made sure to go later than everyone else._ Jiae would have said it, but then again she was thankful she didn’t. It was one thing that Mijoo was hoping for her to be here today, but it is another thing entirely for Jiae to want her completely to herself.

“I’m sorry, it’s actually my friend’s wedding proposal today, it’s a surprise actually and I just definitely have to be there. Can we meet sometime else? How about lunch?”

“Y-Yea, lunch. That’s okay.” Jiae isn’t quite sure this is really happening.

Mijoo grabs a small piece of paper and a pen in her bag and scribbles something. “Teachers don’t really need calling cards, so I don’t have one. Here you go. Do call me anytime you want, I’ll bring the report card and the run down of all you want to know about anything.”

Jiae isn’t quite sure this is really happening. She takes the paper and looks at it, still not quite believing that this is reality.

“I’m sorry I really have to hurry, but I’ll see you next time, Jiae.”

Mijoo makes a run for the faculty lounge, class hours are done anyway, leaving a very stunned Jiae behind.

*

It is actually inside the school. All the things that bother and scare her. So to move away – or actually, the mere act of walking away from it was a relief for her. Like being set free, like being able to breathe again. The school intensified her fears. Of being alone, and lonely, without anyone, without making a mark, of endless chore-like activities, of a job that she realizes, eventually and too late, is actually a job that she doesn’t love. And if she can’t love the same work that her father does, the same work that fed her and clothed her, the same job that made her who she is, doesn’t that make her quite like a fool?

Myungeun sings, out of love and for love. And somehow, she, as well, has become the ever present reminder of all Mijoo cannot become. But it was the sort of thing she would never attempt to tell her, because she knows Myungeun well, and it was the sort of thing she would take to heart.

Mijoo loves to see her loved ones happy. Do they call it a happy virus because they want to cure it? As though the happiness she wants to bring them is a disease.

Mijoo and Myungeun and Howon’s family were in the process of hiding at the back when Myungeun is brought to the store, Howon holding her hand tightly.

Mijoo remembers the story of how they officially became a couple. Howon asked Myungeun to go kite-flying with him, and after numerous failed attempts of making the kite he made fly, Howon became frustrated and wanted to go home instead which then also made Myungeun furious because it was the one day they were supposed to have fun, it was the day she looked forward to the most. On their way home, no one spoke until he decided to say the one thing that broke the silence.

“I wanted to hold your hand.” The kite was just a pretext, of course. Howon never had an interest in kite-flying in the first place. And yet look at them now, holding hands still. He kneels on one knee, his hands never letting go of hers and suddenly, Myungeun is sobbing.

“I don’t know of any other way to ask. I want the beginning to be here, I want to spend the rest of it, the future, with you. So, will you marry me?” He takes a ring out.

Myungeun sobs out the answer. “Yes, I do. I do. I do.” He stands up and puts the ring on her finger, and then engulfing her in a hug, Myungeun burying her face on his chest in happiness.

Mijoo, Myungeun’s and Howon’s family come out of their hiding place to surprise the soon-to-be bride, shouting out a ‘Congratulations!’.

Mijoo loves to see her loved ones happy. And for Myungeun this is only going to be her second happiest day. The wedding would be the first. They share hugs and smiles, the two soon-to-be big extended family.

“I wouldn’t have done it without Mijoo’s help, of course.” Howon remarks and Myungeun is immediately reaching out to embrace her. She asks, “For how long have you known?”

For how long has she known? Probably since the beginning, even before their kite-flying day. “A month, or two… or three? Howon’s… diligent, and he’s been planning this for a while.” Mijoo hugs her even tighter.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Lee!”

*

They manage to drag Mijoo along to their family celebratory dinner. There are more people here than she could have imagined, family members of both Myungeun and Howon she’s not familiar with.

Mijoo feels like she’s missing something. Of course, she wants to be here, but at the same time, she’s uneasy. She doesn’t fit in here at all. She excuses herself to take a walk outside for a bit. Myungeun’s family house in Seoul always fascinated her, mostly because she thought a house this big was only a thing from movies and dramas. Back when she was younger, she thought Okcheon was big, but anything could appear huge to a little girl who knew nothing of the world.

She rarely visits home because it reveals to her how little she knew then. But then again, she’s not really any better now. What even does she know of the world? Mijoo moved to Seoul, but the city is confusing as well, filled with lights and color it can barely contain.

Mijoo unlocks her phone upon noticing that she has some unread messages. One from her sister, and another from her mother, both inquiring about the proposal. But what does she tell them? They’ll both find a way to make the conversation about her anyway.

_How come you still don’t have a boyfriend?_

_Your mother isn’t getting any younger, Lee Mijoo._

_Are you just hiding him from us?_

Mijoo sighs before moving onto the next one. An unregistered number. Anticipation clung onto her unexpectedly. What was she expecting? Her heart could leap inside her, and she would try to control it. Her heart could leap inside her, and turn her inside out but she tried to appear as normal as she could on the outside.

_This is Jiae. Please call me Jiae, Ms. Yoo is too formal._

_I’d like to meet as soon as possible, but I don’t know if that would be imposing too much on you. I’d like to hear from you, if you have any preference on when and where to meet._

Mijoo laughs. She’s too cute, really.

She types: _I feel like I should still address you as Ms. Yoo with such a formal sounding invitation. I’m free all day tomorrow, just inform me of where you want to meet, Jiae._

She sends her reply and afterwards saves her contact information under the name ‘Ms. Yoo’ because it really is just too adorable. To think that they barely know each other, barely spoke, barely met, but Mijoo doesn’t know why she can almost hear her say it – _Please call me Jiae, Ms. Yoo is too formal._ She chuckles to herself in amusement of something that’s probably only vaguely amusing to her and not at all amusing to anyone else.

“Am I ruining a private moment?”

“No. Ah.” There are tears from laughing, and Mijoo wipes them away. “Please don’t think I’m weird.”

“I’ve long come into terms with your weirdness.”

“Ah, well, I can say the same thing about you.”

A pause. Uh oh. What’s with this atmosphere suddenly?

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

“Oh my god, Myungeun, c’mere.” Anyone who’s already choking out their words, wrap them in a hug, and expect them to burst out suddenly crying fat tears from both eyes. “Already the pre-wedding jitters? You haven’t even gone on doing the wedding planning.”

“The wedding is just one day, Mijoo. The marriage is my entire life, my entire future.”

“Isn’t that a lovely thing?”

“It’s… scary, because what if – what if it doesn’t work out?”

“But hey, what if it does?” Mijoo’s stroking her hair now. “No one ever learned how to swim just by dipping their toes in the water.”

Myungeun looks at her straight in the eyes, pouting, tears welling in her eyes.

“But what if I find myself not wanting this suddenly?”

Mijoo is stunned about that one. What a scary sentiment, honestly. Because how will we ever know what the future holds? “Do you? Not … want to marry Howon?”

“No!!” Myungeun shouts, reverberating through the entire veranda. Then she straightens out her dress, and tried to appear composed waiting for the echoing ‘no’s to stop before speaking again. “I mean I’ll find something. I’ll find something strange, or disgusting, something cruel about him. I’ll find something unlovable. I’ll find _him_ unlovable. What then?”

For someone so young to talk about the future with such profound certainty, Mijoo can almost push herself to believe it. While it is true that Myungeun is the resident conspiracy theorist, who most likely believes that UFO’s abducted the world’s most important leaders, on what basis is she speaking on now?

“Can I say something completely off tangent? Earlier today I was thinking of all the ways he isn’t fit for you, all the ways you can reject him, all the ways the two of you won’t work out. But the moment you entered the fruit store, your face lit up. You knew, didn’t you? Stepping into that room, you knew. I want you to remember that always, trust him as much as you did in that moment.”

“I do. I love him, I really do.”

Surely there are strange, disgusting, cruel, unlovable parts. But who’s to say that we can’t love those parts as well? For someone so young to talk about love with such profound certainty, it makes Mijoo realize how little she knows of anything at all actually.

Mijoo laughs again. “So there we go. Why are we only talking about the bad parts? What about the good parts? Ooohhh. A baby. You love babies. You guys are gonna have such cute, tiny babies. You’ll be a great mother. You’ll be a great wife.”

“You think I will be?” 

She nods. “Don’t waver. Where’s the Myungeun I know? Where’s the brave, smart, mature Myungeun I know?”

Myungeun points to herself. “She’s here.”

They both laugh, holding each other closer.

 “You’re here.”


	4. of how one zooms past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eventful day, to say the least, to both Mijoo and Jiae and the people close to them.

“How do you like the summer?”

She almost says it like a whisper, which reminds Mijoo of their first meeting. She was probably trying to be discreet then, deliberately trying to quiet her footsteps, but still there’s a loudness to her entrance. A big leap forward. Why is she being so shy now?

“I don’t like the humidity.”

What else is there to talk about? Why is it that when they are face to face like this Jiae runs out of words to say? Surely there are plenty of things she wants to learn about her.

“I’d like to think of this period as late spring though. If I convince myself well enough, it would almost be as if summer never came at all.”

“You must hate it then. I was thinking you’d like it considering you don’t work during this time.”

“Oh, I do. That’s what I thought too, in the beginning. I should go into teaching since that’s the only job where the joy and freedom of summertime is retained. Turns out it isn’t the case at all.”

“What do you do when there aren’t any classes?” Hearing her speak about her work, Mijoo seems very different from her – her profession that seems to have direction, her life that seems to have meaning.

“There are meetings and conferences and a lot of planning even if the following year is the exact copy of the previous one. And then after that, there are actually still classes. Summer classes are a thing, you know.”

“I can see why you hate it.”

“What about you? What do you do?”

Nothing is shameful about the truth but a rush of shame comes anyway. Jiae takes a deep breath before answering. “I model for a shopping mall. Not hugely popular but it pays the bill, you know.”

“Do you like it?”

Jiae hears her say it in her sister’s voice, the same question that followed her here in this very moment, the same question echoing from three years ago. And what she remembers is the fact that you can like anything just by the thrill of it being the first. 

(Although following that fact [or theory?], why is being with Mijoo so exciting when she is not the first?)

“Well… I don’t hate it.” Jiae takes a sip of her water. “I originally wanted to be an actor, but it seems like an unreachable star now.”

“Stars are meant to be unreachable anyway.”

They have a quiet moment again. Jiae notices it now, like an abrupt pause in which they both don’t know what to say next, without a clue on how to move forward again. Like say, if the two of them were talking a walk outside right now, or hiking up a mountain as Jisoo suggests for an activity as a date (“it’s not a date!” Jiae retaliates but Jiae seriously considered the suggestion somehow, no matter how tiring or how characteristically Jisoo-like mountain hiking is in her mind [and even if really it isn’t a date]), it would have been less awkward, but they’re sat opposite each other like a couple are on their first date, and even if Jiae knows that this isn’t a date, still she can’t help but feel happy with the fact that it’s almost like one. 

“I can see it.”

“Huh?” Jiae is scared of the statement Mijoo decided to break the silence with. Jiae is scared that she might be giving too much away, she’s always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve.

“You acting. I’ll be looking forward to it, Ms. Yoo.”

“I told you to call me Jiae.”

“But you never really called me by my name either.”

If only she knew, how many of Jiae’s thoughts are consists of her. Calling her by her name in fantasy already makes her weak, and if so truthfully, what does that make her?

“Are you a morning person, Mijoo?”

“Not at all.”

Maybe in another life, Mijoo is her college roommate. They are both majoring in the arts, Mijoo in dance and Jiae in theater. Maybe in that life, she’ll hate her, because what else are roommates but a pain in the ass. They’ll have an awkward first meeting. They’ll try to talk … but it rarely happens, since whenever they talk, they only ever really talk about not talking much. They’ll try to reach out, but they’re complete opposites. To prove a point, maybe in that life, Jiae will dye her hair black (for a role) and Mijoo will coincidentally dye her hair blonde, like they accidentally exchanged hair dyes.

Maybe in another life, their beds are facing each other. Mijoo always goes to sleep first. She can’t sleep with the lights on, so say Jiae’s practice ends late, she has to suffer and stumble in the darkness before reaching her own bed. In that life, surely the last face she sees before sleeping (in the dim of their room) and the first she sees when she wakes is Mijoo’s. Make it a matter of constitution, Jiae is more comfortable sleeping on her right side, and Mijoo sleeps on her left, and they sleep face to face each other like that for as long as she can remember. Maybe in another life, Jiae would have Mijoo all figured out, know what her little glances and frowns mean, but in this life, she just first has to ask all the questions.

“Are you good at dancing?”

“How do you know that?”

“What?”

“Dancing. I took up jazz in high school.”

“Oh. I was just asking random questions.”

“Is it my turn now?”

“What?”

“To ask questions.”

“Oh. Uh. Sure, I guess.”

“Are you good at dancing?”

She’s about to speak up, it was an easy question to answer but air gets lodged in her throat because her brain and body couldn’t cooperate and figure out if she wanted to laugh or speak first. Jiae coughs and Mijoo pours her a glass of water.

“I’m so sorry. It’s funny to me I guess. I’m bad at dancing. I don’t even wanna think about dancing.”

“Well, you brought it up.”

That’s true. “What else did you take up in high school? Other than jazz?”

“Archery.”

“Woah, what for?”

“My dad’s a PE teacher, and he had an archery summer class, and maybe he thought it would a good way to bond. But honestly I remember my older sister and I always just looking forward to going home and resting, just like what all the others kids do during summertime.”

Now that Jiae thinks about it, she’s only ever spent her summers resting, going out with friends to amusement parks, and shopping malls and beaches and resorts. She was never the type to have an interest outside the usual hobbies and likes of ordinary girls her age.

It was probably why Kim Yuna was so amusing to her. She watched a Kim Yuna documentary. It was during the summertime too, if she remembers it correctly. For someone so young, to already know. That in itself is a gift.

“Your father’s a teacher too?”

“And his father, and his mother. Because of that, I only really remember wanting to teach. I think that may have played a part in it, coming from a family of teachers, but I don’t remember explicitly linking the two. You know kids who say they want to be a doctor and follow through because they don’t see themselves as anything other than being a doctor, that was kind of like how I was, except with me, it’s teaching.”

“I’ve always found people like that fascinating. Like how do you know? You could’ve been a dancer, or an archer, or something completely different. The world could’ve been entirely different. Everyone... the people you meet; the people you don’t meet.”

“Well, I met you, didn’t I? How would we have met if I was – following your argument – say, a dancer or an archer?”

Jiae would still want to have met her then. Jiae didn’t want to imagine not meeting.

“Oh, we barely touched our food.” Mijoo chuckles.

Her sister suggested the place and in the process, her sister had asked if she’s seeing someone. But Jiae doesn’t really know what that means. At the same time, she doesn’t want it to be a big deal that she’s making an effort on seeing Mijoo again.

“Can I ask one last question?”

“Alright, and then we eat.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She holds her answer a bit longer on that one. Jiae knows that it’s strange to ask, but she has to know! Mijoo cracks a smile belatedly. “I don’t do boyfriends… I have 11 boys in my class that already need attention.”

“And the girls?”

“I already have 13 girls hogging for my attention as well.”

Mijoo picks up her chopsticks but then immediately puts them back down. “Oh, what about you?”

Jiae’s sure she’s asking just for the sake of asking, not because she’s interested. “Oh, I don’t do boyfriends either.”

*

Howon injures his knee in an accident. Myungeun informs Mijoo of the fact in a weird roundabout way, especially because when Myungeun is anxious she either shuts up completely or cannot shut up; the situation today is the latter and to this day, Mijoo cannot decide if she would rather have one over the other. 

Myungeun starts, “You know how I told you that accidents never really happen? Accidents are not accidents, Mijoo unni.”

That’s another thing. She only calls her unni when she’s making a point deliberately. Like when they watched ‘Goblin’ together and she thought that they cast Lee Dongwook because ‘he has such sad sad eyes, unni’ since ‘the Grim reaper’s job must be one of the saddest, unni’.

“Can you just tell me which hospital he’s at so I can go check his condition and so that you can go have your vacation in peace?” Myungeun also happened to be in Jeju Island that same day. The Howon situation worrying the fiancée a hundred miles away.

Mijoo wedges her phone between her shoulder and her cheek to hail a taxi. “I’m in a cab now, you have to tell me where they brought him, now please stop your anxious blabbering.”

“Okay, okay fine.”

Mijoo puts her on loudspeaker so she can reiterate to the cab driver where to go. It’s not the usual hospital Howon frequents and Howon frequents hospitals because injuries also frequent Howon. What an unlucky guy.

“And the knees again, huh?”

“I know! That’s why it never heals! I told him not to go to the Han River today because of the weather and my advice didn’t get through his thick thick head, unni. And so a bunch of cyclists at the Han River run him over.”

“So accidents do happen. It wasn’t exactly his fault.”

“No. He could’ve chosen to listen to me but his own faulty decision-making overlapped with the group of cyclists’ scheduled lap at the Han River and that was no accident. That was like I said, faulty decision making. There are no accidents, just overlaps of decisions. He decided to look away at the very moment the pavement was small and the bicycles were zooming past.”

“Is now really the time for you to be debating the philosophy of accidents?”

“Not just accidents! But fate, destiny, and other interventions, there’s no such thing! Nothing ‘just’ happens, there’s always a stimulus? Or an initiator? What’s the word?”

“A push?”

“Yea, like a push. Like a marble in front of a slope. It just needs a push to move forward.”

“Huh, physics. Funny you talk about that because the cyclists probably accelerated past your fiancé and further injured his already bad knee. Is that the push you’re talking about?”

“Bad bad joke. Now is not the time for that!” Myungeun also tends to repeat words when she’s anxious, or when she’s sad, or when she’s stressed. And right now, she’s probably all of those at the same time.

“Okay, sorry.” But is now also the time for philosophical rambling? The laws of physics? Mijoo doesn’t think so. “Ah, I’m here. What room did they say is he admitted in?”

“Woohyun Oppa said somewhere in the sixth floor. He’s a little out of it as well, to be honest. Which makes me think it’s a lot worse than what I’m hearing. Do you think I should head back to Seoul now? I’m going to book the soonest flight back.”

“What room is Lee Howon in?”

“What?”

“Thank you.” She says in a hurry, “I asked the nurse and apparently he’s in the seventh floor. Who’s your unreliable source? I’ll go check on your husband-to-be first, okay? You’ve only been in Jeju for what? 3 hours?” 

“But I’ll never enjoy it here knowing he’s hurt, and I’m not there.”

“Love is disgusting sometimes.” Mijoo rolls her eyes, and a kid riding the same elevator sees her and eyes her judgingly. 

“If he’s doing badly, you have to tell me honestly. Don’t let him rope you in into not making me go back. You’re the push.”

“I’m the push?”

“You’re my push to move forward.”

“Everyday, it gets weirder and weirder with you. How does Howon put up with you?”

“He loves my weird. Hey remember, you’re the push!”

The sign on the door even says ‘push’ which gives Mijoo goose bumps because Myungeun is psychic now too? Truly a girl of many talents.

“Howon Oppa is asleep. His mother’s here, do you want a word?”

Mijoo hands her phone to Howon’s mother who nods and smiles meekly as she accepts it.

Mijoo only calls Howon Oppa when he’s physically around, but in conversations between her and Myungeun, he’s just Howon. He might not even be aware about that. She walks toward his bed. His legs are covered with a blanket so Mijoo can’t say for certain the condition of his knees. Everywhere else, he seems to be okay.

She looks around the room. It’s a spacious one, with a television in the corner. Money seriously brings you places.

She feels a tap on her shoulder and she turns around, with Howon’s mother handing her phone back.

“Thank you for stopping by. I already told Myungeun not to worry. Of course, even if I told her that she will worry.”

“That’s one of the things she does best.”

“At least I know my son will be well taken care of.”

A doctor arrives, and looks at a clipboard hanging from the foot of his bed. Mijoo says her goodbye and promises to visit another day.

She pulls the door open, which makes her feel a little rebellious after all that talk about ‘the push’ and as she’s making her way out the hospital, she spots a familiar face whose familiarity takes a bit while to sink in because it can’t possibly be? What are the chances that she’ll see her here as well?

Yoo Jiae runs past her clumsily. What is she here for? Why is she crying? Uh oh. Mijoo goes after her and reaches for her arm. Yoo Jiae is still beautiful even when she’s in tears. 

“Are you okay?” Stupidest question to ask a crying girl. Way to go, Lee Mijoo. “Jiae, I’ll walk you. Where are you headed?”

“Seventh… floor…” She manages to say in between sobs. Mijoo holds her hand. It must be terrible if it came to this – a girl arriving at the hospital doors crying. The kid from earlier somehow once again, in the same elevator as her, what a weird twist of fate. He continues to eye her and even Jiae weirdly.

He whispers audibly enough for Mijoo (and of course even Jiae) to hear, before alighting at the fifth floor. “Love is disgusting sometimes.”

Mijoo freezes and the short distance between the fifth and the seventh floor seemed to stretch like eternity. “That’s… I was…” She wanted to explain, but what is there to say? Should there be any need to explain?

The elevator opens at the seventh floor. Jiae squeezes her hands slightly. Mijoo leads her forward. They walk towards the room after Howon’s. Mijoo pushes the door forward and Jiae practically leaps, bawling at the lady’s bedside.

She laughs before noticing Mijoo at the corner. “Oh, hello.” She has scars on her face, and seemed to be a lot worse compared to Howon seeing as her leg needed a contraption from the ceiling to suspend from.

“Jiae, I think introductions are necessary.”

She walks closer. “Oh, I’m Lee Mijoo. I’m… Jiae’s nephew’s former teacher.”

Her mouth drops open as if to say ‘ah’ but her voice doesn’t quite follow through. She holds her hand out for a handshake. “I’m Seo Jisoo, Jiae’s friend.”

Mijoo takes it and shakes her hand only lightly. “Must be a good friend of hers to necessitate all that crying. I saw her on my way out and she didn’t look like she saw me. I had to run back to see if she’s alright.”

“She’s not like this at all on a normal day. I’m guessing you’re on your period?”

Jiae looks up, “Yes.” And the two laugh while Mijoo stands by, thinking of the funny way coincidences work.


	5. of how one dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mijoo returns to where it started, and usually the start is nothing but a small dream.

With very few days left of summer, it always cycles like this, with Mijoo left with nothing to do, bored out of her wits. She doesn’t want the days to pass by meaninglessly, or maybe she just doesn’t want the days to go by at all. 

She’s been trying to empty her mind, but being alone makes her mind wander to places. And sadness is always at a corner. Why is it easier to seek out sad and scary thoughts? Myungeun suggests she visit her parents, as she hasn’t been home in years. There used to be a time when she wanted to go back to Okcheon… to go home because home used to be where her parents lived, and where her younger self lived, and grew and became older. And then now that she’s older, she’s attached the meaning of home where she feels most comfortable, and sadly it isn’t the place of her youth anymore. How did that become so?

Youth offered so many blissful fantasies about life, about the future. The train goes from one countryside to another, all fields and empty vastness. The distance of her hometown, she feels more vividly now in her heart. Its scent and color all familiar to her, but the place of her memories, her old school, the parks and the playground have all changed within the years she’s been away. Suddenly, like her youth being stripped down of what it used to know.

Of the two daughters of their household, both not filial, Mijoo wonders if her parents think that they’ve done something wrong in raising them. It’s not that she did not love them, of course she does, but oftentimes parents also make it the easiest to resent them.

She opens the door, and the dogs welcome her. Her parents got two dogs as though replacements for certain two daughters who don’t make it a habit to go home, or at least call. Her mother pops out from the kitchen, apron and gloves on, and with a smile she’s very familiar with. Her grandmother and her mother and their many many teeth, and the way their smiles cannot contain their happiness, just like her own as she receives her warm hug.

“For some reason, I felt like cooking a lot today. I should’ve known it’s because you were coming over!”

“So there really was no need to call.”

“But you should still call anyway.” She heads back to the kitchen, and Mijoo brings her luggage to her room.

There was no need to inspect her room. Her parents have started getting rid of her stuff early on, to make room for the dogs’ things. In a way, she also felt like they didn’t want to keep it looking like her old room, like their youngest child’s room, because it was more than a painful a reminder of people leaving them behind and themselves growing old.

“I’m sorry for not calling.” Mijoo leans on the dining table, barely looking at her mother’s back. She’s gotten smaller, like a side effect of getting older.

“Well, there used to be a time I was the daughter who said things like that. Can’t say I didn’t imagine my own children saying the same.”

They say that houses have a very certain characteristic smell. When she used to live here, when she used to know how to only live at this place, Mijoo didn’t quite understand what that meant. It didn’t smell like anything before… but now, there’s musk and dryness overhung in the air. A consequence of poor ventilation perhaps. Ah, and the smell of old things. Like when you flip through the pages of an old book. That smell. Although, she knows they don’t keep many books around.

“Your sister visited a month ago.”

And people have certain characteristic smells too. Not their signature perfume, or the smell of their clothes. Although maybe those contribute. Their fabric softener and their musk, two scents she always associates with her mother. So much that the house began smelling of it, of her. How did this house smell like when they all used to live here?

“And maybe on the Autumn as well.”

“Do you know why is that?”

“No idea.” Her birthday usually falls on that season. Her sister only became a sister because of her, but she was born into the world already a sister to someone. Being a sibling is a game of unreliable fate. How could two wholes that come from the same halves be so completely different? At least there used to be a time when her sister loved her, anticipated her birth into the world, there are plenty of photo albums documenting it. It’s all a theory, a selfish one at that, but Mijoo thinks that she always goes home every autumn to remember that. A time when she used to love someone she didn’t know unconditionally. A time she loved her sister so much.

The more she knew of her sister, the more she resented her. It was the same equal and fair process for both of them, and before they knew it, they barely talked… and barely talked about each other.

*

Her father nudges her awake, she manages to sleep in their living room couch. Of course she remembers it to be much bigger, only it was always this size, and this shape, and the color maybe a little faded through time, but it was the same couch.

When did her father get old? He started having health problems after she had left for Seoul, something about the heat and being outdoors most of the time. It was a constant topic of conversation whenever she had called; about how he’s eating like a goat and how he isn’t as cheerful as he used to be.

“Dinner’s ready.”

She had been dreaming. The thing about her dreams is that they are always mismatched. She was dreaming about Okcheon, _while_ in Okcheon. The open field of her old high school and her high school friends, sitting on the bleachers where the rays of the sun were blocked by a strategically planted tree. Their red plaid uniform that cling tightly to their thighs had they eaten a little bit more during lunchtime, and the breeze even in her dream, it smelled like Okcheon. Probably because she is at Okcheon.

And Jiae was there. Yoo Jiae. She doesn’t even know how old Jiae is, or where she lived, or if she had a hometown. Some people live in the city their whole lives, and Mijoo doesn’t know why but Jiae just strikes her as someone like that.

She approached her, only in her dream she didn’t seem to like her or care for her. A familiar face with an unfamiliar expression. Mijoo hasn’t even seen Jiae give a cold shoulder in reality. She hasn’t seen a lot of expressions from her. But the funny thing is the last time she’s seen her, she was crying.

Mijoo walks to the dining area, still in a daze, trying to remember the other half of her dream. It’s probably a matter of habit that their seats around the table never change. Everything is the same, and at the same time, different.

They don’t have a swimming pool in her old high school. They had the field that doubled for any outside team or solo sport it can hold, and the rooms for archery and kendo, but never in her years in high school was there even a plan for a construction of a pool. Well, it’s a dream anyway. And since it’s a dream, and because she doesn’t know how Jiae looked like when she was in high school, in her dream is present day Jiae in her old high school uniform. Winter uniform too, blazer and all that.

They were alone suddenly. The swimming pool was on the rooftop, even though students weren’t allowed on the rooftop. Jiae took off her brown leather shoes, and dipped her toes in the water. Jiae was a mermaid. 

And beyond that she can longer remember.

Her mother is looking at her, looking like she’s waiting for something. Oh, right, she’s supposed to eat. The thing about being home is that most of it, after she had left home, she associates with food. In Seoul, she always has to think about what and where to eat, that it starts feeling like a chore. Cooking is an actual chore she dares not to try to venture into, otherwise the fate of her apartment building might be put in danger.

Both her parents are good cooks. Her mother especially. Is it a requirement to be a good cook to become a parent or is it something they learn along the way? But actually, not all parents are good cooks. Imagine if there exists a qualifier for parenthood. Like a test to pass or something, with a certificate that says: the holder of said document is qualified to be a parent, valid until a certain date, in which another test takes place for toddler care, with a prerequisite course required to take another test. Surely parenthood is also a learning experience just the same, except that if there exists a test for it no one would probably become a parent. Maybe there wouldn’t even be a teacher for it, similarly because no one qualifies.

It might be regretful or even just plain sad to think it, but Mijoo doesn’t want anything to do with children. There she admits to it, and that’s coming from a pre-school teacher. Surely the great lineage of their family won’t end just because she doesn’t want children, her sister could take that responsibility.

“Do you not want to eat? It’s fish.”

Oh, it’s fish. Fillet, so it’s barely noticeable. 

It’s strange because Jiae is a mermaid in her dream. Half human, half fish. Well, what kind of fish is the lower half of a mermaid? Certainly not the edible kind. Edible to humans, that is. Of course, fishes would always be edible to certain other bigger fishes, or bigger sea creatures.

Why are they serving fish? She observes her father’s quick hands and the way he chews chews and chews, unappreciative and uncaring. Mijoo takes a bite, and it tastes like nothing, and she looks over to her mother and it is as if she mirrors her husband perfectly. Like they’ve grown accustomed to this, their small(er) unit of a family getting used to the taste of bland meat. Mijoo recalls her mother telling her that it helps him that’s she’s with him in his journey to health or whatever she calls it.

How does one become a wife? It’s a distant worry for her, but at the same time, her best friend is soon to be a bride, soon to be a wife, soon to be a mother in all different variations of the meaning of the word ‘soon’, so actually it’s not a distant worry at all.

She finishes her food quickly, and wordlessly. There is no need to comment on the culinary genius that is steamed fish, and its health benefits to man. Mijoo didn’t used to go out after dinner as a child, but she’s older now and she can take care of herself just fine so she excuses herself for a walk around the neighborhood.

“Leave the dishes. I’ll do the dishes when I get back.”

Her mother nods, and while Mijoo wears her shoes to get ready to go out, her parents position themselves in front of the television immersing themselves in some nighttime drama.

She steps out with no particular destination in mind. Maybe she’ll visit her cousin who works at a convenience store nearby, maybe she’ll just walk around and see if she recognizes anyone. There was a time, she dreamt of an earthquake and an earthquake actually took place the following day. Mijoo felt like she was sent a premonition in a form of a dream but she had no courage to tell her friends that she knew somehow about the event before it took place. She had eventually told her preschool best friend about the crazy coincidence, and they were on the swings, just sitting and rocking very slowly.

Those swings were eventually replaced by bigger swings. Earthquakes became a rarity, and so did Mijoo’s dreams.

Mijoo contemplates telling Jiae about the dream with her in it, because what use would it serve? It doesn’t mean anything, and certainly there was no point to it. She has her number, but it feels awkward to be contacting her for personal reasons. They have conversations, they carry it well actually, but Mijoo doesn’t know if she’s allowed to ask her things, and tell her meaningless things, especially now that there’s ultimately nothing linking them together but a mermaid dream.

She types it down nonetheless. _I had a dream about you._

Mijoo stares at the words, reflecting on them until her phone screen eventually goes to black, and what she sees is her own reflection. She puts her phone in her pocket and decides against sending the message. She’ll bring it up if it happens again, is what she decides.

Mijoo goes back home, and loads the dishes in their dishwasher. It’s one of the first things she and her sister have bought for their parents with their hard earned money. Her sister loaned them a car under her name eventually, and she’s paying it off well with her high paying office job. And Mijoo got them half a dishwasher and a TV, but she’s happy they’re using it well. 

They say parents don’t play favorites, but Mijoo knows they do. Even as a teacher, she has her favorites. Children are like ice cream flavors; one can’t like them all the same. It’s a weird comparison Myungeun brought to her attention.

“But hey say you like vanilla now, who’s to say you won’t like pistachio in five years’ time? People’s preferences change all the time.”

“Some people like yogurt.”

“Yea, some people like yogurt. Some people are vegan. Some people are lactose intolerant.”

Mijoo laughs at it now that she remembers. Myungeun is so insightful, everyone should have her as a friend. Maybe Myungeun knows what it means when people dream of mermaids. She calls her to ask, and also to tell her that she’s in Okcheon.

She picks up and says, “Hello?”

“I hate you.”

“That’s not true. I know you love me.”

“I’m home.”

“That’s nice. Go treat your parents to a meal or something.”

“Yea, tomorrow, I’ll do that.”

And then silence. Mijoo shifts in her bed, not understanding why she’s hesitating so much. Myungeun could probably feel her hesitation from the other end.

“Is anything wrong? Did anything bad happen?”

“No, no. It’s just… this might be weird question but what does it mean when someone dreams of mermaids?”

“How would I know?”

Mijoo laughs in defeat, “Yea, sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it?”

“Do you want me to look it up?”

“No. Just.. uhm…” She thinks of changing the topic. “How is Howon?”

“He’s fine. How’s your dad?”

“It’s the summer vacation so I think he’s itching to be working again.”

“Just like you.”

Really? Did Myungeun really think that? What sort of instances lead to her making that sort of conclusion? Mijoo replies flatly and as-a-matter-of-factly, “I just like to be doing something. Anything. I don’t like boredom.”

“Wanna go visit some wedding planners with me? Howon needs to rest for some time.”

“School starts in two weeks, so you have me for as long as I’m free.”

“Hey, the mermaid dream. Do you want to go to someone who knows what that might mean?” 

“Nah, it’s probably nothing. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Well you dreamt of an earthquake and it happened, so I should definitely be worried.”

“I have also dreamt of a giant cake as big as the Namsan tower. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“What kind of cake?”

“I don’t remember actually.”

“Hm, could have been a good wedding cake suggestion.”

“I’ll try to dream of it again, if that’s what you want.” Mijoo offers, even though she knows that’s not how dreams work, at least definitely not hers.

And Myungeun goes into a rant, about how our subconscious doesn’t quite work like that. And about this movie called ‘Inside Out’ which Mijoo knows because children love animated movies they don’t quite get yet, and the next thing Mijoo knows she’s opening her eyes (when did she close it?) and it’s morning. Her room faces away from the sun when it rises – but it gets bright enough if she leaves her door open which she did because she managed to doze off unknowingly and their living room windows are huge and they let the light in fairly well. She reaches around the mattress for her phone and a few unread messages greet her when she unlocks it.

Why is she disappointed? Jiae contacted her first before. Why can’t she do so now? Now, especially that Mijoo lacks the courage. Why the need to even gather courage? Who knows. But Mijoo feels like she should explain or at least say something about the hospital elevator incident, never mind that she doesn’t understand it herself, never mind that she doesn’t know what to say.

Mijoo hates it when people say sorry too much. Myungeun grew out of it, surely enough after she hit puberty, Myungeun learned how to be so unapologetic about being herself, fully embracing all her quirks and ideas she had locked up inside because she was afraid people would find her strange. And she is strange, but never did she apologize for it, in fact, Mijoo thinks Myungeun is quite proud of being different.

_Sorry, I didn’t know I was that tired to have slept through our convo. I’ll be back in Seoul two days from now, I’ll join you in all your wedding planning to make it up to you._

She replies to Myungeun’s sad face emoji message as Mijoo makes her way out to the living room, joining her dad on the couch. He’s watching a diving competition, or more like listening to it. Since their curtains are parted, all the rays of sunlight are spilling inside their living room, casting shadows of the pattern of their window pane – which Huchu, their dog, seems to enjoy since he’s basking at it and lying down like a person. The brightness reflects on their TV screen so much that Mijoo can only make out that it’s a diving competition from the commentators’ voices, the splashing of the water, and the blue that seem to occupy most of the screen at times.

“Can I –”

Change the channel? She was supposed to ask, but when she turned to face her dad, he’s already asleep, his head thrown back and the remote control slipping from his loosely gripping hand.

He used to be her role model. He used to be strong, funny, and sensible. He gave good advice and he supported her decisions. He was the best father any daughter could ask for. Growing up, Mijoo always heard people say that she was perfect combination of her parents’ personalities and looks, but for some reason, she always wanted to be more like him. Not that she would ever say it to their faces.

It’s partly why she became a teacher; some children grow up wanting to become a doctor, or a lawyer, or an engineer, but Mijoo admired her father so much, she molded herself to wanting to become like him. They would go out to a restaurant or to the playground and people knew her dad, and they greeted him and smiled at him, have a bit of a talk. It was fairly simple, but Mijoo wanted just that.

She doesn’t remember this, but apparently her mother was very jealous because for show-and-tell day at school, she had wanted to bring her father and boast about him and how she wanted to be just like him. Instead, she brought a baseball cap he always wore, since obviously he had to go to school himself, to teach.

Mijoo catches the remote control before it falls to the floor, careful not to disturb her father, but her mother calls from the kitchen and it jolts her father awake. It’s his turn to cook, and since his best dish is fried egg, he’s usually in charge of breakfast.

Mijoo’s about to bring the curtains together, but Huchu seems to be enjoying the sun, so she leaves it be. She scoots to where her dad sat, and lets the lull of the commentators’ voices and the splashing of the water bring her to sleep. It’s only 6am on a lazy summer day after all.


	6. of how one saves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We follow through the season. Autumn might just be the avenue for change. Jiae meets too many equally familiar and unfamiliar people in a day.

Autumn is the avenue for change. The leaves are falling, leaving the streets a calmer atmosphere compared to the bright, intense and humid summer. It starts getting colder, and the fashion begins to wrap itself up in warm long coats and huge dwarfing scarves. Jiae likes autumn because their lineup of clothes is the best during this season.

She’s their best girl when it comes down to this time of year – maybe even during winter too. Her pictures in their website and social media gathering more traffic compared to anyone else’s. It was autumn last year when people were curious about the girl in the print ad. And Sungjong was patting her on the back, telling her a little curiosity is all it takes to make a break in the business.

Jiae dyes her hair to black, and she’s going to be owning this change. She goes to her shoot early, and it surprises the stylists and the make up artists because it’s unlike her to be early since Jiae is a person who likes to be exactly on time. No room for idle chitchat.

But autumn might actually be the avenue for change. This year, Jiae is aiming for it to be so. Their company manages to snag a big merger of some sort and they’ve expanded their reach into social media with skyrocketing follower counts, beyond anything she’s seen in the past years she’s been working with them. Sungjong is very pleased. He says this has always been his vision, a larger more sought after thing.

Jiae is the busiest she’s ever been. They put out catalog after catalog, like they never run out of clothes and ideas. She could say she misses the simpler times, but truthfully, she quite enjoys the satisfaction of doing something that seems to be succeeding. It’s been a while since she felt like this, like something worthwhile is happening.

They fix her up, hair and make up and all. In this business, the focus is on the clothes but the model should be equally dazzling. It’s a strange and difficult equilibrium to balance, especially now that Jiae particularly wants to shine. If the correct people start to notice, she’ll end up where she actually wants to be. There’s a stigma against models turned actors, and Jiae understands why. A still picture is not a very good measure or starting point of someone who is supposed to act. It’s called ‘acting’ for a reason. There is action and motion, that’s the main difference.

She’s been told as a child that she didn’t learn the correct way to walk. Her footsteps are heavy and she seems only to be hurling herself forward. On a rainy day, she would dirty the ends of her pants with spots of dirt from small puddles of water collecting on the sidewalk. Is there really a correct way to walk? If Jiae can bring herself from one place to another, wouldn’t that be good enough? Sadly, they might be right, since she’s still exactly where she started, unmoving. Is walking something that’s taught? Why didn’t anyone correct her?

It’s like holding a pen. Is there a single correct way to hold a pen? She’s now in the bank, looking around at people writing and signing papers. If they can write comfortably, it should be good enough, right? The ATM machine experiences an error when it’s her turn to withdraw and her money seems to have been stuck, so she’s waiting again for her turn to talk to a bank teller, to ask about the inconveniences brought about by that technical error.

Autumn might just actually be the avenue for change. Her shoot finished early. She’s eating healthier. She’s going swimming with Jisoo. Small trivial changes, but changes nonetheless. She decides not to use her credit card on small purchases, which is why now she’s at the bank, supposedly with money in hand if not for the unexpected mistake. But she’s not one bit impatient or agitated at what happened. It’s almost her turn anyway.

She walks towards the bank teller, trying to remember why she’s so familiar.

“Ms. Yoo, nice to see you again.”

It’s Soojung! “Soojung, you work here now?” Surprise is very much evident in her voice, and she couldn’t hide it.

“Well, with the company merger and all, I wasn’t re-hired back and so here I am. How may I help you today?”

“This suits you.” Somehow, Jiae realizes that Soojung doesn’t fit at all in her previous job. Her calm demeanor and the way she speaks; a bank job does seem to be much more suitable.

“Thank you.”

This might have to be the biggest change. Jiae didn’t think about lay offs at all when the merger happened. Her first thought is actually that it’s weird someone’s interested in such a small shot agency modelling for small shot clothing stores. A totally irrelevant line of thought compared to the people who actually lost their jobs in the process.

She tells Soojung about her ATM error and she gives her a form to fill out, telling her not to worry about losing money.

“Processing is going to take a business day, and so when you check back on your account 24 hours from now, expect that there won’t be any deductions.”

“These things really happen?”

“Not a commonality, but it does happen. There’s no need to worry about it. Your finances are safe with us.”

“Is that a tagline you’re supposed to say?”

“Only in the day’s work.”

Jiae finishes filling out the form and hands it back to Soojung, waiting as she inputs something on the computer in front of her.

“That should do it. If any more problem arises, don’t hesitate to call us or reach us through our website.”

“Thank you.” Jiae smiles and bids her goodbye. A bank teller, huh. How does one go from make up artist to bank teller? Probably the same way a model becomes an actor. Suddenly, and surprisingly.

She goes to the ATM machine to try to withdraw money again. She eyes it suspiciously. Maybe she should just use her credit card, she’ll only be going to have a meal with Jisoo after all. Maybe Jisoo will even pay. They meet at a café and surely enough Jisoo decides to pay for both of them.

“It’s a celebratory meal. For you, and for the many good things that will be going your way.” Jisoo says, as she snatches the bill towards her end of the table.

“To preempt it like this…”

“Come on, it’s not a bad thing. If you think it, it’ll happen.”

They go for a bit of a walk afterwards since the swimming pool they frequent is quite far from where they ate. Jisoo goes swimming when the season gets colder, and Jiae decides to accompany her to make sure that she won’t injure or hurt herself again like last time. Jisoo promised her she wouldn’t fall, or hurt herself. She even promised her that she wouldn’t die. At least not before her. How could Jisoo make light of the situation like that, especially since Jiae knows just how badly the accident left her? Jisoo’s on a swimming program to gain strength in her atrophied leg muscles. It’s only a mere coincidence that she actually likes swimming when it begins to get colder.

It’s only probably also a mere coincidence that Jisoo’s hands were clear of injury. A good coincidence seeing as that she managed to sell a story book idea to a publisher. She sold an idea. It wasn’t even a story yet, nor was there any bit of physicality to this story book. Just an idea she told her editor who told their publisher who eventually agreed to make it into a physical and digital book. Jisoo signed the contract the day she was released from the hospital. She was in crutches at the time, but if she wasn’t, she would be prancing around in joy, Jiae is sure of it.

After that, Jisoo realized she’ll be dealing with deadlines a lot, which equates to dealing with her editor a lot. It’s probably in their job description to be good naggers. Even if Jisoo was patient enough, she wouldn’t want to deal with the kind of work she puts her editor through.

“Do you sleep better at night knowing that you never put Sungyeol at ease?”

“I’ve reached a slump. I used my one good idea and I’m not good enough to make it happen. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“Incapable? Insufficient? Incompetent?”

“Well, aren’t you helping?”

“Where’s the bakery girl? Wasn’t she supposed to help?”

“She doesn’t work there anymore. She was doing some part-time jobs over the summer to cover a bit of the expenses she has for medical school. She’s studying to be a doctor. Do you know what that means? I don’t have a chance with her.”

“You mean because she’s straight, right?”

“No. Didn’t you hear what I just said? Medical school. She’s going to meet some medical school student who understands her and just really gets her. And then they’ll make smart future-doctor babies. And then they’ll study and work until they die. I would never be able to understand.”

“Ah, so she’s straight.”

Jisoo nods in defeat. “What about –”

Jisoo is cut off by her phone ringing. What about you? Jiae fills it in in her mind. What about her? It would be a lie to say that she hasn’t thought of Mijoo. Jiae didn’t realize how little restraint she had until she was face-to-face with an embarrassingly honest message typed and deleted almost three times and thankfully never sent. If it was about restraint, maybe she has a little more than she thought she did. But in the end maybe it was less about restraint and more about cowardice.

Her exchanges with Mijoo ends up sitting at the bottom of her inbox, buried by messages from less important people than Mijoo. She would catch herself scrolling all the way to the bottom, and just staring at the last bit of the conversation they had. Is this the end of it? What else could she tell her? What else could she ask of her? If this is love – although to think it this early is such a scary thought – but if it is, can she demand to know more of her, and then knowing her, and still wanting to unravel more to the point of wanting to just have her by her side completely?

Jisoo grabs her arm, asking for her attention. “Speaking of Sungyeol, we’re supposed to meet today apparently. I haven’t been looking at my schedule because I’ve been dreading the days but I suppose today I really have to go see him. You don’t have to go swimming today, if you don’t want.”

“Who’ll tell your instructor that you can’t make it?”

“I… don’t have his number.”

“I’ll just pass by and tell him. Maybe have a lap or two.”

“You’re a life saver!”

Jiae accompanies her to the main road to hail a cab, and then makes her way to the swimming pool. There’s not much people this time of the day that she even chances upon Jisoo’s swim instructor on his break, just idly sitting at the side, midway into a bite of his sandwich.

“Jisoo can’t make it today. Work stuff.”

“You came just to tell me that? She could’ve just called.”

“She didn’t have your number.”

“Oh… I thought I gave her my card already.”

“She usually doesn’t look at cards and brochures and stuff like that.” Not even her own schedule.

“I’ll make sure to give her my number personally next time. You swimming? It’s a nice day, there’s not much people.”

But Jiae wanted the place to be bustling with people, to drown out the noise in her head. Instead the pool is merely occupied by two older women chatting at the same corner she and Jisoo usually occupy. Maybe those two are older versions of them in another dimension.

She walks over to where the lifeguard on duty is. She’s become quite friendly with this girl, Yein, who looks like Jisoo but is quite unlike Jisoo in all the other aspects.

“Does anyone actually need a lifeguard here?”

“It’s standard protocol.”

“Were you taught to say that?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Why do I feel slightly offended?”

“Don’t be.” Jiae laughs. “Anyway, has anyone drowned and needed your help?”

“No. But I like feeling like people can depend on me. Like if someone yelled ‘help!’, I’ll say ‘I’ll be right there’ and I’ll save them. Like Wonder Woman.”

“What an imagination.”

“Don’t you dream of little things like that sometimes?”

Oh, but if only it is indeed little. “That’s nice. You’re a dreamer.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

Perhaps. It requires a certain kind of unconditional love to be able to look at the world like that, with kind eyes. Jiae has felt this for quite some time now – like she is filled to the brim, waiting to overflow. If she gets tipped over, what would spill? If she boils, what would bubble to the surface? Jisoo once said that it doesn’t seem like it but Jiae is actually filled with so much anger, so much that it floats to the surface more times than she would like it to. If she is made fuller, would anger spill out? And maybe only then would she be able to see and feel like the world is all good and wonderful again.

It’s good that Yein still sees the good in the world. Everyone is a dreamer, if she thinks it so.

“That’s a song. You may say I am a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. That’s from John Lennon.” She exclaims, delighting at the fact that she remembers.

“What song is that?”

“Imagine.” Jiae sings it to prove her point “Imagine all the people living for today…”

Yein gives her a blank stare.

“You don’t know? Maybe you’re too young to know.”

“I don’t watch a lot of TV either.”

“I grew up watching every bit of everything.”

It’s an idle day for Yein too, without that much people around. They usually don’t hold this long of a conversation if today was like a regular day. Yein would insist on shoo-ing both her and Jisoo away, since she wants to look like the part of a life guard – dignified, mysterious and brooding. From where she got that, Jiae doesn’t know, but the kid did say she doesn’t watch a lot of TV.

“You don’t have plans to go back to school?”

“I can go back to school anytime.”

“Just not right now?”

Yein stopped studying because she doesn’t know what she wants. It’s a completely valid reason, if Jiae thinks about it, but to put everything on pause and assume that the world would be waiting is a bit immature and impractical.

“People can be 60 years old and go back to school. It’s not weird.”

“You’re going to wait ‘til you’re 60?”

“No. I don’t know. I’m just saying. It’s not weird. It’s not weird that I don’t know what I want yet. I just don’t want to be wasting my time with something I’m unsure of.”

Jiae would have said it. You can be absolutely sure with what you want to be doing, and still have it not work out the way you want it to. But it sounds more like an advice to herself than it is to Yein. “Fair enough. But shouldn’t you be doing something so that you can reach your desired level of certainty?”

“I’m reading the news.”

“How is that helping exactly?”

“Helps me filter out the ones I don’t like. For example: Journalist, lawyer, politician, celebrity, president.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad method.”

“I’ll take it as it’s a good method.”

“You do you, I guess.” Jiae then proceeds to the shower area to ready herself for a bit of a swim. She slowly dips her legs in the pool, testing the temperature.

She should’ve stretched when she was out of the water, but the conversation with Yein kept her preoccupied and made her forget. Jiae contemplates on getting out and stretching but the cold air will definitely greet her once she gets out of the pool, and it will leave her like a shivering mess.

She keeps to herself by the gutter. There’s only a few people here, so it might not be strange if she intends to stretch while in the pool. No one here knows her anyway and it looks like no one really cares enough to notice anybody.

Or so it seems. She could see a figure approaching her from the corner of her eye. Jiae was so sure it was only her and the two older women here earlier, so who is this? Hopefully, not a pervert. That would definitely ruin her day.

“Excuse me,”

It’s a girl’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Oh my god, you’re so pretty.”

This is weird. Certainly, she’s not that well known to be approached and recognized by strangers. No one knows her here. In the first place, she’s not even wearing make-up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I definitely do come on strongly sometimes.” The girl hits herself on her arm. “I just want to ask if I can join you since it’s my first time here, and I went by myself. And you seemed to be by yourself as well. The life guard said you’re nice and friendly. Oh my god, I’m saying so many words, I hope I’m not scaring you off.”

It’s not polite to laugh, but Jiae manages to let out a laugh anyway. What a strange self-aware girl. “I’m Jiae.”

“Oh my god, you are nice and friendly.” She smiles a big goofy smile. “I’m Myungeun. I usually swim for breathing practice since I sing professionally, but I’m swimming for exercise now since I want to lose weight for my wedding day.”

“A wedding? Wow, congratulations.” Jiae is surprised by how naturally talkative and comfortable this girl is in meeting new people.

“Thank you. I mean, it’s still far off but it doesn’t hurt to prepare early. I’ve talked to a few wedding planners myself.” Myungeun covers her mouth suddenly. “Oh, I’m sorry I’m talking about myself too much, aren’t I? What about you? Is swimming your hobby?”

“Today… I just felt like going for a swim.”

Jiae was going to elaborate, about how her friend Jisoo is actually here for rehabilitation and therapy and healing since she was in a terrible hiking accident months ago, but Jisoo is unable to make it today, leaving her alone.

“You’re a mermaid!” Myungeun exclaims excitedly. “Do you know why people dream of mermaids?”

“N-no...” Jiae is startled by that one. Where did that come from? She is certainly one strange and peculiar girl. “Do you know?”

“No. I have a friend who dreamt of mermaids though. Or is it just one mermaid? Anyway, I’m trying to decipher what it might mean, but to no avail, I still don’t have the answer.”

“Have you tried looking it up on the internet?”

“Do you know how unreliable the internet might be? The NBI might be watching us and tweaking information on the web.”

“But why would the NBI care about mermaids…?”

“Because they might realize that we’ve figured out that they’re real.” Myungeun looks at her like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Mermaids are real…?”

“I’m not saying they are but I’m also not disputing the theory that they might have or are existing.”

“I don’t get it.” She was definitely saying mermaids are real. They went from talking about her wedding, to talking about mermaids. And they’ve only barely met.

“I bet if mermaids exist, I bet they would look like you. You’re very pretty, do you hear that often? I bet you do. You’re also like an angel. Like there’s a bright halo above your head.”

Is it a compliment? Jiae has heard people being likened to an angel as a compliment, but Myungeun just made her a mermaid-angel hybrid. A dead mermaid who ascended into the heavens and got rewarded a halo.

“Thank you,” is all Jiae manages to say, if it was a compliment at all.

“You’re welcome!” She replies cheerfully, and puts her goggles on before performing some breathing exercises by the gutter.

What a strange awfully unusual girl.


	7. of the place where we found love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find the value of the things we have lost only after we have lost them. In a way, something is found, even if it isn’t necessarily what one sought for initially.

Mijoo’s apartment building is near the school. She chose this place for that particular reason. No more hassle of a commute. No more expensive train and bus fares. Her room is small, but the space is sufficient enough for a single person. She could take four long strides and reach the other end, but four long strides are all she can give on tiring day. She has her bed, and a closet full of her things, and books – which Myungeun comments to be a lot more compared to her utensils. Mijoo only has two plates, two pairs of chopsticks, two spoons and forks, and two cups.

It had occurred to her, of course, that she can buy a single piece of everything – like how she has only a single sized bed, and a beanbag in a corner for reading, but she thought she definitely needed two chairs for the table, and two sets of cutlery. She could do most things alone, even eating outside alone is not a problem for her. But it just didn’t look right to have a single chair for the dining table. It would make her look solitary, like she didn’t like visitors.

“It has never occurred to me how small my apartment really is until you are here with me.” Mijoo looks over at Myungeun who is in her bed, reading.

“It’s cozy. Although the person on the unit above you, they’re really like that?”

She means that they’re a bit noisy. Mijoo has gotten used to their fumbling, and clumsiness that translated into noise that comes from her ceiling. Her ceiling is their floor technically. Or not technically. But she hears all their rummaging, and their few heavy burdened footsteps, sometimes they dribble a ball and she would match its rhythmic bouncing with the tapping of her foot. She minded it, but at the same time, she doesn’t mind it at all.

“Yes,” Mijoo answers straightforwardly. That’s all the question is asking for anyway, a confirmation.

“It feels like an intruder in your room. Or a ghost or something.”

“Huh,” She says it with a bit of dismissiveness. She hasn’t lived long enough here to know if there exist strange supernatural activities in this apartment building, but the sounds that sometimes wake her up in the middle of the night were not scary or particularly eerie. Truth be told, she found them comforting sometimes.

“The thought of ghosts never occurred to me.” Mijoo quips, because of the sudden quiet.

“I can’t decide… if ghosts are good. If the existence of them are good.” Myungeun begins to explain, and Mijoo has her back to her because she is washing the dishes, but if she could take a peek at her face, Mijoo wonders if she is correct in the assumption that she would see compassion in them.

“On one hand, it means there’s more after this. After life. There’s going to be another thing. But on the other hand, that in itself seems like a sad and scary thing.”

“I think I’ll cry if there’s a ghost above me.”

Mijoo hears a book closing, and Myungeun suddenly asks, “Do you think you’ll dream of ghosts because we’re talking about them?”

“Hopefully not.”

Mijoo hasn’t been dreaming at all lately.

After Mijoo is done with the dishes, Myungeun resumes reading. Mijoo snatches the book in her hand, and returns it to the table top where it usually sits. Mijoo flings her body on the bed, so that she and Myungeun are face-to-face exactly.

“Something’s bothering you. And I hope it’s not about my ghost neighbor.”

“Are you lonely?”

“This is about me?”

It’s surprising. Because she has a lot more things going on for her that requires more of her attention. Myungeun’s face softens, and maybe Mijoo looked like she was in pain, because Myungeun is quick to embrace her.

 “I miss you.”

“I’m always here though.”

Mijoo knows Myungeun doesn’t mean it like that, but ultimately Mijoo doesn’t know what she means exactly. A mind like hers is the most difficult to fathom. They lay like that for a while – her arm bent awkwardly around her figure, but she couldn’t do much but just allow it to be so – until Myungeun finally speaks up.

“Something’s bothering _you_. I just wish you would tell me. You always used to tell me.”

 “I don’t understand it myself. Call it quarter life crisis or whatever.”

“That’s assuming you’ll live up to a hundred years old.”

“That’s not the goal?” Mijoo asks jokingly.

“Of course it isn’t.”

Of course, it is no time for jokes. She is very worried; her face shows it well.

“I’ll tell you but first promise me you won’t ask questions.”

“Anything but that.” She pleads.

Indeed, how can Mijoo ask such a thing from Myungeun, of all people? The girl can’t repress her curiosity, can’t downsize it. But Mijoo must have pleaded harder with her eyes. It’s not something she can negotiate. Mijoo doesn’t know if she can provide the answers even if Myungeun asked.

“Fine, fine.” Myungeun sits up straight, “But when you’ve figured it out, which you will, you will tell me everything.”

Mijoo doesn’t argue. She doesn’t even deny that she’s been keeping secrets. Myungeun’s right, she used to tell her everything. But that was when she had everything figured out, or what she thought she had all figured out. Mijoo isn’t so sure anymore lately. Where does she begin? The darkest, vaguest, most insensible part – Mijoo would have to make new words to be able to describe it, and she’s not in any capacity capable.

“There is… someone. And they’re not allowing me to forget about them.”

Mijoo hasn’t been dreaming at all lately, which is a relief, but at the same time the lack of dreams serves just as great of a reminder that she wants to be thinking about her. She wants to be dreaming about her. It takes several grumpy mornings for her to realize that she wants to see her, even if only in her dreams, because meeting her in reality is unimaginable. She’s held her hand, but at the time, she was too preoccupied at the time to care about it at all. Everything is in retrospect, which is also a relief, because if she had been so aware of these things sooner, she would be afraid to hold her hand, she would be hesitant to meet her, she would be so wary of where her eyes roamed, and of all the words she is or is not to say.

“What have you done about it?”

Nothing. If Mijoo spoke the word, Myungeun would urge her to do something. But it isn’t as easy. It’s not the same.

“No questions.”

If Mijoo reaches out, she knows she won’t be able to look at her the same way as before. She’d be wanting to hold her or touch her to find a resolution. Jiae will notice, and she will be disgusted by her, never wanting to see her again.

“Howon’s on his way to pick me up.”

“That’s it?”

Myungeun shrugs. “I’m marrying my first love. Call it a blessing or luck. I don’t know. Your case is entirely different from mine. Plus, you’re not giving me any chance to ask questions, so it seems to me you already got it all figured out.”

She doesn’t. But to be able to speak about it, even vaguely, is comforting.

Sure enough, Howon arrives after a few minutes, taking Myungeun away by the hand. Mijoo doesn’t know any other couple who likes to hold hands as much as those two. She walks them out until the gate and she returns to her room after she’s sure that they’ve left safely.

Mijoo has an early day tomorrow, so she switches the light off, and lets the dark lull her into sleep. Except, of course, now her mind is running with ideas. Some sort of opportunity had presented itself to her before, as a way to reconnect with Jiae, but she’s always been too afraid to take it. The first one was the dream. Mijoo thought little of it at first, but again in retrospect, it must have been the biggest giveaway. Like a sign with glaring blinking colorful lights, and still she chose not to heed to its warning. The second one is an internet ad. Like the many others, her eyes resisted them, but taking a second glance, she knew she recognized the girl. Why did she look closely? She didn’t use to care about things like that.

Jiae dyed her hair a darker color. Mijoo would have given it more thought if she saw it in reality, if she saw _her_ in reality. How difficult would it be to say that she wanted to see her? How difficult would it be to send one message? The advent of technology is an irony, the easier it is to reach out, the harder, more contrived, more complicated it is to be able to reach through.

She shuts her eyes close, wishing she could come to a decision. One text. A call is not something she can consider. A text message is hard enough. What will she say? The truth. A little bit of the truth. Some version of the truth. How long will she wait for a reply? A day? She hasn’t ever thought about the time it will take her to respond, but somehow Mijoo always imagines Jiae’s response to be a mix of confusion and indifference.

But who knows. She won’t ever really know if she doesn’t take a chance. Take a leap of faith.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow, sure. Mijoo isn’t one to procrastinate but it’s late at night, and Jiae could be sleeping, and it’s strange enough that she would contact her, but at a time like this too? She would text her during her lunch break, like it’s just some passing thought, even if it is anything but that.

“A lunch break passing thought?” She says it, and it sounds even more ridiculous spoken aloud.

Is she overthinking this? She could say she mistakenly dialed her number, and maybe Jiae will help her out, and remove her out of her misery. Maybe that will get them talking again. And then maybe it’s actually nothing. Mijoo has reached the age where friendships have become difficult to cultivate, and maybe she has taken an interest in Jiae because the people who interest her are so few and far in between, and Jiae just happens to be the most captivating.

Maybe it’s actually nothing.

*

The bell rings, signaling the end of classes. The students hurry to gather their things, excited to meet their parents who they have only been away from for a couple of hours.

There’s a few hours in between before the next batch of students arrive, and Mijoo usually spends it in the classroom, unlike the other teachers who choose to rest in the faculty room.

She likes the emptiness of it, the calm before the storm. Rarely does she ever permit herself to think that she likes the storm too. The children cry fairly often. They throw tantrums. They fight. They sing, they laugh, they make a mess. They nap. It’s all the same. But different at the same time. The non-routine routine of her job.

She hears footsteps, as though stomping.

It reminds her of elephants, and Dumbo (a fictional elephant), and if she allows herself, Yoo Jiae. These days, Mijoo acknowledges that perhaps although knowing, in fact, very little about Ms. Yoo, her mind has honed a certain skill to associate a connection between Jiae’s own interestingly mysterious existence and the random boring trivialities of her every day life.

But of course, it isn’t Jiae. Jiae never did make anything easy for her. Still she looks at the door, pitying herself for every longing and hopeful thought. She’s never been the type to specifically want to get to know someone. No one is dazzling or special to her since the beginning. No one she specifically actively reached out for, which is probably why this is so difficult. Everyone used to be all the same. They were her classmates, her students, her friends – lumped into a common group. Where does Jiae fit in all of this? An acquaintance, a student’s aunt, the subject of her dreams. All new and different profiles that she never really used to care for.

They say let’s cross the bridge when we get there. But what if there is no bridge, just a cliff? Should Mijoo just jump? Or should she turn back?

Jiheon, a student of hers, enters the classroom, approaching her with a smile.

“What are you still doing here, Jiheon?”

She’s not in teacher mode. There’s a switch, and it’s turned off. A form of hibernation. Mijoo isn’t speaking to her like she’s her student, she’s speaking to her like she’s another adult. The softness in the tone of her voice unapparent, that it seems to have made Jiheon pause a while to answer because of the unfamiliarity.

“Oh, my dad isn’t here yet.”

“Should we try to give him a call?”

“He should be on his way. He just doesn’t like trains.”

“Do you want to wait here? I only have snacks to offer while you wait.”

“Can I take a look at the books?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

*

The story begins with a child.

A child who lost her voice. She retraces her steps, in hopes to stumble upon it. Maybe she just dropped it on the way.

However, she’s been to many places today, playing all too many games. It was just there when they played tag, and hide and seek. Oh. Hide and seek. Maybe her voice decided to hide as well.

And if it hid, how can she find it? She didn’t know how it looked like. Just that now she has lost it. It could be in any corner, keeping quiet, hoping not to be found.

She hides well, so maybe her voice can too. She opens every small drawer, and seeks out every corner, every little gap in hopes to find it. No one can help her. How can she tell them she lost her voice without a voice?

What color might a voice be? It could be gold, or black or blue, or red. Red is her favorite color. How amazing would that be if our voices matched our favorite colors.

Or maybe it glows. Like how stars do, twinkling. How beautiful would that be if our voices glowed. Then maybe it would be easier to find.

Does it wither? Like a flower would, once it has been picked. How sad would that be if our voices withered.

Does it change? Like clay turning into a pot, recognizable and unrecognizable.

Do we have another voice? Like a spare tire, crucial in times of need.

It certainly sounds like people have various voices. She would never use her voice for a friend to talk to her mother. But, oh, which voice could she have lost? And why does it seem like the others have disappeared as well?

Oh, her mother. If she has indeed lost her voice forever, what was the last thing she has said to her?

She retraces her steps, and finds herself at home. We find the value of the things we have lost only after we have lost them. In a way, something is found, even if it isn’t necessarily what one sought for initially.

A friend is waiting for her inside. “Don’t you have anything to say?” She asks.

“I do.” It’s her voice. Here. It’s been here the entire time.

“I was protecting it, so I could return it to you.”

“Thank you.” She answers bit by bit; afraid she would run out of words. “I was afraid I would be without it forever.”

“That can’t be true. It’s been with me, this entire time!”

*

“What about character names?” Sungyeol remarks, after jotting down lazily at her first manuscript. “They’re all females. The pronouns would get confusing after a while, don’t you think?”

“Well, the idea is that we stumble into the story, and what we know primarily about the character is that she can’t speak, so she can’t introduce herself. And her stream of thoughts consists of finding her voice, but not really of using it.”

“Can’t the friend character utter her name?”

“The point in which the first character speaks, I don’t think readers would be curious as to their names.”

“ _Character names_ ,” Sungyeol reemphasizes. “Something simple. Like Jiyeon, or Minah, or Chaeyoung. Something relatable.”

“I’ll consider it.” Jisoo hates meetings, and their dull atmosphere. She swears she can hear every small noise in the office.

“I’ll consider it done.” Sungyeol begins to compile the papers he spread out on the table, signaling the end of their meeting. He is up and ready to leave but stops midway to tell her something. “Also, can’t it be longer? A different ending perhaps? I’ll be expecting the revised storyboard by next weekend.”

“I’ll get to it.”

“Go out and seek for some artistic inspiration.” He says it like it’s his version of a goodbye. And since Jisoo has been at her most obedient these past few days, doing things like actually passing her manuscript on time, she does just as Sungyeol advises.

*

The bakery looks the same. Jisoo doesn’t know why she’s expecting it to be different, or for something –any little thing– to change. Everything is the same –the table arrangements, the usual pastries and cakes at the display, the tiny chalkboard they write the day’s special of, and its neat handwritten letters. Everything is the same, except well, Sujeong isn’t behind the counter anymore. And somehow, for Jisoo, that makes for a big difference.

The male staff greets her, and she smiles in return. She never did get his name, or she just never had the interest to get his name. After all, her visits here had been all for the sole purpose of making herself known to Sujeong.

Jisoo imagines she must have looked pathetic, being here all the time just so she could see her, or talk to her, that is if ordering food is considered a conversation.

While this isn’t really fulfilling Sungyeol’s task for her, being here might do her good. Like going through photo albums, and reliving memories. In this place, even bad memories are good memories. Scalding hot drinks spilling on her hand and that same hand being held and given attention to by Sujeong.

And finally being given the chance to introduce herself, not as a customer, but just as herself. “I’m Seo Jisoo.”

“Ryu Sujeong,”

“Nice to finally meet you, Sujeong.”

“But this isn’t our first time meeting.”

“Well, this is the first time I give my name without you needing to write it on a cup.”

“This is the first time I see you with a friend.”

“I’m… well, I’m not a loser, if that’s what you’re thinking. I have friends. She’s not my only friend.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that. I mean… I just noticed you’re… here a lot, but this is the first time you came with someone.”

Jisoo recalls how those words made her so happy. To be acknowledged, and all the more, to be remembered – wasn’t that all that she had wanted in the beginning? She had decided to stay longer then, determined to make a turning point. Any story has its own recognizable turning point, there’s a shift somewhere in what one knows, or wants, or pursues. Passion, or pain, or love or fear provoking the change.

After Jiae had left, Jisoo brought the tray to the counter, and Sujeong received it with a smile.

“Will I be seeing you again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Jisoo smiled, unable to stop herself.

“What do you like here so much, for you to keep coming back?”

“You, I suppose.”


End file.
